Vera gave him her hand quickly, and then, seating herself at the table, picked up the ivory pointer.
“I didn’t know you were coming as an old friend,” she murmured embarrassedly. “You said you were coming to consult Vera, the medium.”
“But you said that was the only way I could come,” protested Winthrop. “Don’t you remember, you said—”
Vera interrupted him. She spoke distantly, formally. “What kind of a reading do you want?” she asked. “A hand reading, or a crystal reading?”
Winthrop leaned forward in his chair, frankly smiling at her. He made no attempt to conceal the pleasure the sight of her gave him. His manner was that of a very old and dear friend, who, for the first time, had met her after a separation of years.
“Don’t want any kind of a reading,” he declared. “I want a talking. You don’t seem to understand,” he objected, “that I am making an afternoon call.” His good humor was unassailable. Looking up with a perplexed frown, Vera met his eyes and saw that he was laughing at her. She threw the ivory pointer down and, leaning back in her chair, smiled at him.
“I don’t believe,” she said doubtfully, “that I know much about afternoon calls. What would I do, if we were on Fifth Avenue? Would I give you tea?” she asked, “because,” she added hastily, “there isn’t any tea.”
“In that case, it is not etiquette to offer any,” said Winthrop gravely.
“Then,” said Vera, “I’m doing it right, so far?”
They both laughed; Vera because she still was in awe of him, and Winthrop because he was happy.